Slipping Into Entropy
by Razoth RedFire
Summary: Joker escapes from Arkham Asylum, but his plan is a little different this time. Instead of indulging the whole city in the methods of his madness, his focus has been drawn sharply to the object of his obsession. Batman/Joker
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Slipping Into Entropy  
**Authors:** **razothredfire** & **loony_lucifer**  
**Rating:** Mature  
**Notes:** Batman(Bruce)/Joker

The skinny man hunkered down in the corner of the cell, the scars around his mouth twisting oddly under the florescent lighting as he stared absently at the door. The staff had drugged him to unconsciousness, scrubbing his skin and hair clean of the layers of grime and makeup, but a sense of alienness still clung to him despite the best efforts of the staff to impose a sense of normalcy on their patients.

Joker showed no sign of tensing as the door opened, admitting a short little brunette with a loaded trolley. Smiling and waving away the guard that nervously hovered at the door, she padded around to the other side of the cart, readying her supplies. "It's time for your medicine. Now, you aren't going to give me any trouble today, are you, hon?" she asked with just a hint of a tremor, knowing just how unpredictable the man could actually be.

"Who, me? What sort of trouble do you think I could possibly do in this, sweetie?" he chuckled, rustling the straps of his straitjacket to emphasize the point. "I am curious, however. Insatiably. What's all the juice in those little tubes actually supposed to do?" Playing at 'slow progress' had been a pinch these last weeks - people's minds worked in such predictable patterns, saw what they wanted to see.

* * *

Contrary to popular belief, Bruce Wayne did watch the news. He did so regularly, more than regularly; he did so obsessively. He was never short on television monitors, placed in a variety of areas throughout his home. He could be watching a program in the bedroom, wander into the kitchen and never miss a line of the anchorman's story. It would follow him into the bathroom, where he could watch a little screen on the left side of the sink mirror. Alfred had been complaining for months about forgetting to turn them off when he went out, and a few choice things about them being a little bit fanatical as well, but Bruce felt entirely "unplugged" if he wasn't wired in to the city.

He had them on now, three of them actually, placed on the walls of the living room, but he wasn't paying attention. In spite of his dedication, GNN often got pushed to the outskirts of his awareness. Instead he was working on a new routine. What sparse furniture he had had been moved to the corners of the area while he spun, kicked, and punched the air in the middle of the padded space. Sweat rolled down his chest and back, gathered at the roots of his hair, but neither it, seeping into his eyes while he flung around a particular way, nor the droll of the news buzzing in his ears disturbed him. He was very much in his zone. He liked it here, in his penthouse high above Gotham. It felt like a fortress that he could perch atop, ready to leap from at a moment's notice should the people below need him. He even felt more comfortable here than in his old home. It was too far, much too far, from his city. His new routine felt like zen personified. He finally felt like his life was going in the right direction, like he was making some progress.

* * *

It was over far too quickly. The charade had worked, and he had played up the pity card to his advantage. Stripping the uniform off the prone form discarded on the floor, he had to tug at the fabric for a moment as an edge caught on the needle embedded in her throat. Shrugging into the slightly-splattered white, he twirled the broken jacket for a moment on the tips of his fingers, giggling before dropping it without another glance on his former nurse. "They just don't make 'em like they used to, eh, sweetie?"

Picking over the veritable arsenal left in the cart, it took only seconds to dispose of the guard outside. Sweeping up the key card from his pocket, he rubbed the thin plastic between his fingers, a gleam growing in his eyes as he mulled over his options.

Less than five minutes later, the doors of every holding cell and security door swung open, releasing a spray of maniacs upon the asylum staff to the merry tune of sirens. The other freed patients were marvelous at creating distractions at just the right time... and human shields and fodder whenever the time wasn't just right. No longer restrained, the madhouse began to finally resemble the name as the insane flooded through the hallways. Generously passing out keys to whomever happened to be closest and catch his favor, the maniac clambered into an ambulance, screeching away as other inmates made use of his gifts and did the same... in several directions.

Heart racing at the freedom, the lights racing by and the sounds of people scrambling and screaming, he absently mulled over where he should head first. So many options, so much time...

* * *

Bruce flung himself down to the floor face first. One. Two. Three. Four push ups, and he was back on his feet, arm thrusting out parallel to the floor, back arching at a thirty degree angle, then spinning to switch positions. And then down on the floor again. One. Two. Three. Four push ups until he once more sprung from the carpet to the air.

He had gotten so into it that it that he was oblivious to the world around him. It was some time before the monotonous noise of the televisions filtered through the ears of a resident in Wayne tower, and unfortunately it wasn't Bruce. Alfred hurried into the room in a flurry of quiet panic, in his way that had made Bruce come to think that he was the only person he knew who could flip out in such a dignified manner, and nearly got a foot in the face for his rush.

After much apologizing on the young athlete's part, Alfred finally relayed the reason for his distress, cutting Bruce off and turning up the volume on one of the viewscreens. The anchorman wore a serious expression and there was flashing red text running across the bottom of the screen.

"Mass patient break-out occurred this evening at the Arkham Asylum institute. There is no word yet of arrests made, but police have been called into the scene. Residents in the area have been cautioned to stay in their homes. Among the escaped reported, are - " Bruce shut the program off before he had a chance to hear it. He already knew.

"Thank you, Alfred," he said, apologetically meeting the eyes of the butler who had proven far more attentive than he. "Time to go." He grabbed his jacket and hurried for the door, trying to think about containing the entirety of the situation and not one escaped inmate in particular.

Bruce dug around in the jacket and pulled free his wireless communicator. It was far less sophisticated than the sonar device had been, but it could pick up on police airwaves more than efficiently. He stuck it into his ear and tossed the coat aside while his pace picked up. There was a hidden room at the end of the hall, as there were on all levels of Wayne tower, along with hidden elevators, and they all led to the same place. It was a miniature version of his underground warehouse. He needed to keep supplies as close as possible at all times, and so he had gone so far as to build an entire structure sectioned off inside of the tower. It was at times like this when he felt it had been worth the cost and hassle of secrecy in such a public place.

He scrambled into the suit, grabbed essentials, whatever he could find, and hooked them to his belt, then exited the interior structure as quickly as possible. He took a tiny stairwell leading straight to the roof, and paused for a moment to listen to the radio waves. Police were calling in, just now arriving at the outskirts of the asylum's grounds. They didn't know what to expect yet, and Bruce felt a pang of anxiety for their sakes. He leapt off his tower, one of the tallest in Gotham, and spread his "wings" wide to catch the wind, hoping he would be fast enough to reach them.

By the time Batman arrived at the scene, Arkham and its surrounding streets were in chaos. He caught sight of several emergency vehicles with lights ablaze rushing from the building just as others were rushing to it. Some were driving erratically. The police had attempted to set up a perimeter around the institute, but a good portion of the patients had gotten out of the building long before they arrived. As it was they were guarding a small group of inmates who were negotiating surrender. Staff and nurses were mixed up with the crowd, some simply caught in the building, unable to get to the police through the group of patients, one or two being held with the patients, no doubt facilitating their chances of negotiation.

They were the ones he went after first. They barely noticed him descending out of the night sky until he was bowling them over. The entire group, three to four patients and two nurses, went down with him. One of the nurses escaped immediately and fled toward the wall of cops. She even beat Batman to his feet in her hurry. He was impressed, but not far behind, getting hold of the other nurse and tossing her as gently as possible out of the fray before the inmates gained their feet. It wasn't a long fight, but the men here were desperate, having found their freedom and having it crushed so quickly. The police converged, and Batman was gone barely in time to escape them himself.

Now confined to the ground, Batman had to move extra quickly to get out of the spotlights. More cops were arriving, many being sent out in pursuit of the missing patients. He couldn't gauge how many there had been exactly, but he got the feeling there had been a lot of them. He found refuge by an adjacent building, a small one used for grounds keeping storage. He climbed atop it, using its height to reach an old fire escape on the side of the Arkham building. He scanned the area as he climbed, but his mind was wandering. A chill was forming in his chest in spite of the temperature underneath his armor. He had a very bad notion about who was responsible for this chaos. Most patients would enjoy any freedom they could get by themselves; somehow these ones escaped like a row of dominoes.

Reaching the top of the asylum, he listened in on his earpiece again. Police and their operators were covering the airwaves. He tried to follow threads in their reports. Some prisoners had been cornered seven blocks from the institute, others were being pursued, but he was searching for something special. He closed his eyes and listened, trying to calm himself and enter the zone he had found earlier that day.

* * *

Zooming down the street like a _*heheheh!*_ bat out of hell, the ambulance weaved randomly down the street, paying no mind to the laws of traffic or the flaming chaos it left behind. Screeching to a halt as it passed an Assisted Living building, it backed up just as suddenly, the driver eying the front door with a manic grin. "It's about time for your monthly checkups, isn't it now?" Swinging out of the driver's seat and into the back section, he poked briefly through the equipment stored in the little compact drawers, stuffing whatever caught his fancy into his pockets.

Striding through the front glass doors, he grinned smarmily at the assistant who was wheeling an elderly lady across the foyer. Grin deepening as she stared, jaw dropping and hands going slack, he swiped his tongue over his lips, deftly grabbing the chair and sending it careening down the hallway with a violent push. The resulting squeal only made him chuckle. "I did get the right address, didn't I? 911 emergency service, right? Delivered to your door in 10 minutes or the emergency is on the house, free of charge..." Watching the lady as she beat a panicked retreat back the way she had come from, he peered down the hallway at the wrinkled matron sprawled on the floor, spilled from her chair. "Kids today, eh? No respect for the elderly."

Joker strolled leisurely down the hallways, delighting in the shocked reactions he evoked every time he ran into another unfortunate. An untimely victim of a heart attack was stepped over with a shrug - he was on a mission. He finally slunk past a room that contained what he was looking for. Sneaking past the comatose figure on the bed that was more a tangle of tubes and wires than a living being any longer, his gaze was locked on the supplies left on the room's small vanity. "Faugh. It stinks of old people in here. No offense, lady." Slender fingers exploring the little bottles and tubes and brushes cluttering the table's surface, he found what he wanted and got to work, glancing at the sleeping figure's reflection every so often. "And I hate to break it to you, but whatever your nanny's been telling you? Ain't the truth. You can pile on as much of this stuff as you want; you ain't fooling anyone at this point." Shuddering like a dog drying itself as the pale foundation slithered over his skin, he began blackening a ring around one eye.

* * *

Bruce's heart was slowing to a more regular pattern while the reports fed through his head. His breathing was concentrated. He ignored the sirens around him. He ignored the voice on the megaphone calling for Batman to surrender himself. It irked him, just a little bit, that he could remain one of their priorities in a situation like this, but he had to ignore it. He listened, and waited. More patients found, more captured, and a list of names and descriptions was being aired now. Apparently the cops had gotten into the building and were searching through the empty rooms, taking stock of who was there and who wasn't.

And then it hit, the one he had been waiting for - Joker. Or the man with no name. He was listed on the operator's tongue as "alias: Joker", and that sounded a little ridiculous to Bruce. The chill in his gut thinned itself out slightly; he knew now whether the maniac had caused this breakout or not, he had been part of it. There was no uncertainty any longer, and that meant that for now, he had a purpose, a definite one. It eased his nerves as much as they possibly could be.

"Cars 852 to 176, we're getting reports of a disturbance in your area. Over," the operator's strained voice rang clearly in his ears.

"Can you be more specific?" a male voice responded.

"Building 2787, your street, Spring Meadow Assisted Living. They're reporting a break-in. Several injuries. Number of suspects responsible uncertain. They sound pretty rattled down there. Over."

"We're on our way," and so was Batman, as soon as their conversation was over.

* * *

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	2. Chapter 2

Sweeping off the rooftop, Batman caught a thermal of warm air rising along an adjacent building and rode it up into the sky. Underneath, cop cars sped down the roads, both followed by and pursuing ambulances. He had a clear map of the city in his head, but no idea what street cars 852 and 176 had been patrolling.

"Alfred," he spoke into the communications system for the first time that night, hoping the butler had been keeping tabs on the situation.

"Ready and waiting, Master Bruce."

"I need you to get a street address for Spring Meadows Assisted Living."

Within minutes he had the location, but was sorely missing his car. Gliding short distances was wonderful, but trying to cover a vast amount of ground on the thermals of air rising out of the city was extremely difficult. He had to guess at the currents half the time, and it was very hit and miss, sometimes riding smoothly one moment only to run into a gust around the corner of the next building. He felt slow and slightly ridiculous that he hadn't had enough time to reach the car waiting patiently in his underground hideout. Alfred was on top of that already, sending it out to him on autopilot, but he knew that by this time he would still be quicker on his own.

* * *

Finishing the black around the other eye, he lifted the stick of brilliant red for the final touch. Drawing the mocking half-moon with a ridiculous amount of care and ending with a flourish, he licked his lips and smirked at his double. "There. Now you look much more like yourself. A twinkle in the eye and grin on the face," he intoned, breaking into breathless giggles at the end. Pocketing the little tube of lipstick, he wandered back into the halls. It was time to gather up other supplies.

Stepping quickly down the hallway, chuckling every time he spotted another person huddled, shivering, in a room. He passed by a large Rec-Room full of oblivious ancients tottering to and fro, knitting and reading and snoozing and playing cards. Those with the sense and the sight enough to note his presence stopped what they were doing and stared. "Don't mind me, people. This is just a drill. ....oh, don't mind if I do," he muttered, snatching the joker card out of a wrinkled hand, ignoring the weak protests of its owner. Spying what had to be the kitchen, he edged inside. Sneaking up behind the cook that had apparently been left to her own devices, he laid her out with a frypan.

"...oops. That's gonna be a whopper in the morning." He picked his was through the utensils. "Hmm...I wonder if this is sharp enough..." Eying one of the kitchen blades, he thrust it down into the wooden cutting board, burying the tip by at least an inch. Jiggling at the hilt, unable to budge it, Joker grinned and shrugged, pocketing the rest of the set. Slinking out through the door, he found himself being attended to by a rapt, if myopic, audience. "Well, Ladies and Gentlemen, I believe I've overstayed my welcome. Perhaps I'll bring some presents next time I pay a visit!"

Realizing that there was only so much time, he moved quicker than before, knowing that the distraction at the asylum would only tie down so many coppers for so long. _And then there's the overgrown flying rats..._ Running down a different hallway than the way he came, he rounded a corner at the same time a lone, exploring Boy in Blue did. Much quicker to react, he shoved the shocked man's head into the wall with a crack, wresting his gun away from him and hitting him with the butt of it for good measure. "One down! How many to go...?"

* * *

Batman had not beaten the three arriving squad cars to the assisted living home. He caught sight of them rushing to the front doors, greeted by anxious looking staff. One person was holding an armful of bandages and ice packs. They had obviously been waiting outside the building but none appeared injured, and he flew over them without a second glance. Instead he landed on the rooftop and swung over the side of the building with a hook and a line of wire, checking the windows as he went. Most were rooms belonging to the residents of the home and most were unlit; their owners already having gone to sleep. He found one that was opened to let in a breeze. He used one of the spikes on his gauntlets to rip the bug screen, and slipped in as quietly as possible. He listened carefully once inside; there was no commotion to be heard, and he couldn't make out sounds of any disturbances on adjacent floors either. Indiscreetly, he exited the room and moved down the hallway, listening as he went.

Batman quickened his pace, hoping to run into the least amount of civilians possible in his search. The cops in his ear were still calling back and forth as they apprehended escaped patients, some more cooperative than others, but there was no news of particularly odd sounding business going on. Bruce began to wonder if he'd made the right decision in checking up on this call. It seemed to him like a place the Joker would hit, just for the fun of it. Hospitals, boats, carrying passengers of both felons and civilians... that in Bruce's mind was forming an idea of the Joker's style. An elderly home would fit the bill perfectly. But as he went from floor to floor, he wasn't finding anything amiss. It was possible that one of the other escapees had threatened the staff, trying to get into the building.....and he was beginning to feel guilty about not being on the streets with the rest of Gotham's police.

His gut told him otherwise when he first heard the call on the police line, and he felt it important to stick to that feeling. The Joker....he didn't always do things that made sense.

Finally he decided to hell with it, and took a stairwell straight down, knowing he would eventually run into the cops taking stock of the first floor, but confident that he could lose them if sighted.

When Batman reached the first floor landing he immediately happened upon a small group of officers who, more than a little startled to find the Batman in their building, were too slow to get a gun on him. He ran past them, seeing a discreetly labeled fuse box next to a fire extinguisher and a water fountain, and stabbed his gauntlet into it, taking out a good portion of the lights nearby. The cops shouted to each other, now far more frightened than they were before. One of them even shot into the dark, imagining he'd seen a cape lurking in the shadows. Too bad really, Bruce was lurking in the shadows on the opposite side of the lobby, quickly taking stock of who was in the area and the sectioned off rooms close by. He found nothing.

* * *

Running now that he knew the hounds were close, not wanting in the slightest to go back to the boring, banal hospital with its white-washed rooms and it's humorless staff, green eyes darted, searching for a handy exit. What they found was a blue-capped head cautiously peeking around the corner, and the instant reaction was the same as any kid at a carnival game. _BANG!_ The head dropped in a flash, though not vanishing as cleanly as those BB targets of years past. Racing past the prone body, bloody footprints following in his wake, a plan began forming in his head.

Peering around another corner, spotting another group of cops, he made a choked sound halfway between a tsk and a chuckle. _You can't go anywhere without running into them. Worse than cockroaches!_ Darting across the hallway, he rushed up the steps of a stairwell, hearing a pattering of footsteps echoing up from below. _Up, up, and awaaaaay..._ Now all he had to do was find the right spot...

* * *

He was really getting frustrated at this point, so much so that he almost, _almost_, wished he still had the sonar system installed into his suit. The cops on his floor were losing it. They'd called in for backup, but were now wary of venturing further into the building. That was fine by him, but he really needed them to be quiet so he could listen, and _think_.

No sign of Arkham patients here, besides overturned chairs and an empty wheelchair in the corner. Bruce was about to exit and check things out from the exterior when the elevator dinged softly and the doors slid open. By a stroke of luck, one of the elderly women stepped out, leaning heavily against a crutch, one of the metal ones with the tennis balls on the bottoms.

"Excuse me.....excuse me?" she called into the room, seeing the lights out and obviously confused as to what was happening. The officers had jumped about a foot into the air upon her arrival, and Bruce was sincerely glad none of them had the notion to shoot at the disturbance. The old woman continued on obliviously. "There is a very rude man running amok upstairs." Her voice was watery and so quiet that the cops might not have heard her anyway, but Bruce did loud and clearly. "He took some of our playing cards...."

He was back into the stairwell before she could finish her sentence, scaring the poor lady half to death on the way.

* * *

Barreling through the doors at the top floor, he took stock of the empty corridors in front and beside him before jogging along the outer walkways, looking in each room for a glimpse of his target. _There's gotta be one of these up here. This city don't run on buried lines..._

Finally spotting what he was searching for out of one room's window, he twisted on the door's handle only for it to refuse to budge an inch. Pushing and shoving at the door with a grimace, pounding against the wood with his fists in a tantrum for a few seconds, he stepped back and glared at the thing. A lightbulb popped on, and he raised the gun. The lock exploded into a scattering of shards, and although the Joker jumped slightly as the bullet continued to ricochet, it finally lodging in the wall beside him. Moving into the room, he struggled with the window locks and slid the thing open, punching the screen out of the frame entirely.

Batman took the stairs at breakneck speed upon hearing the resounding gunshot at the top of the floor. All the frustration up until now was easing off of him as he closed in, reaching the doors to the hall. He came through, seeing the damaged door and splintered pieces of wood scattered about the floor, and swept into the room.

He told himself before entering that he wouldn't be surprised no matter what he found, that he'd keep going, and so he did without hesitation. There stood the Joker, face made up just like Bruce remembered him, with one hand on the window and the other sticking outside, the screen falling out of view. Bruce's body left his mind behind, acting on his original intentions when his eyes were still stuck on the other man's gruesome makeup. He grabbed the Joker by the wrist and pulled him as forcefully as possible back into the room, spinning them so that he was between the crook and the window.

The shock was short-lived on his pallid face, breaking into a manic grin as his other hand moved without a pause, something silver glinting in the low light... _Snik. Snik._ The little metal circlets closed around two very different wrists as the insane man beamed up without concern at the intruder. "Well, you took a little longer than I thought you would. I knew you just couldn't stay away for long..."

Batman's fierce scowl faltered. He looked at the handcuffs between them as though not realizing how they got there before his anger and frustration returned full force.

"YOU--" he bellowed deeply while his hands, though still attached to one of the Joker's, reached for the man's neck, grabbed him by the collar and slammed him into the wall nearest the broken door. "Of _course_ I couldn't stay away, _Joker_," he continued with less volume, deliberately playing along because he was _that_ angry. "I live to bring down scum like you."

Helpless laughter bubbled up from the throat pinned by black leather, tears of mirth and pain rimmed kohled eyes. "Oh you do, you _do_!" he giggled, not even struggling in the slightest. "I never would have thought you the type. It takes all tastes I suppose, hmm?" Peering at him curiously, using the moment to record little details, his fevered gaze actually looked... _pleased_. Using the confusion that resulted to slip out of the Batman's momentarily relaxed grip and under his arm, he backed up towards the window. "Well, then, I suppose there's nowhere for me to go but down, if you insist. You should know that I dearly enjoy company, however. May devils flight us..." The quote was cut short as he closed his eyes with a smile, leaning backwards and falling out of the open window.

* * *

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	3. Chapter 3

Batman was instantly pulled forward. His thighs hit the windowsill hard and his free hand attempted to grab it as they went down. He got a hold of it, but just barely, and the dead weight of the Joker on the other end of his wrist nearly dislocated his shoulder. He felt the strain and groaned aloud. He wanted to tell the madman that he shouldn't be allowed to quote Shakespeare, but the cops chose that moment to come bursting into the room they'd previously been standing in.

He held on as tightly as possible, trying to force his cuffed hand free, but the Joker had cuffed them tightly. His wiggling on the other end of the chain wasn't helping at all. Bruce was losing his grip. If he could just get the cops over here....

"It's them! It's the both of them! Shoot, shoot!" They were panicking, and Bruce's hopes were dashed as the gunfire started. A few bullets narrowly missed his hand, and splinters of the windowsill dug into it deeply. The wood cracked, crumbled, and then they were falling.

From the Joker's face, you'd never know that the possibility of death was mere seconds away. He could have been on a ride at a theme park, eyes still closed, grin still plastered across his scarred features. His other hand dropped the useless gun, reaching out to grab the bicep of the hero's cuffed arm as if tugging him along to a messy end on the pavement below.

Bruce had to grab hold of the Joker as well. His free arm latched itself around the man's waist and released his wings into the air, holding them best as he could with the cuffed arm. If the Joker spun out too far then the cloth wings would never hold their distributed weight.

They fell forever. Bruce couldn't help being reminded of Rachel, and the last and only time he'd done this with another person. It made him incredibly uneasy to see the Joker's gleeful eyes staring back instead of her sweet, fearful ones. He could feel his own heart pounding, and tried to push his contempt for the man aside. He focused on slowing their descent, but when they landed, they landed hard on the turf, directly next to Batman's car.

Balance completely thrown as they landed, mind still buzzing like a child at how _exciting_ the fall had been and how many _neat toys_ the Bat had, he just barely registered the shouts and gunshots as his gaze fell on a familiar black shape. His hands unconsciously clenched, fingers itching to try all the levers and knobs and buttons he just knew had to be inside, but all he ended up doing was tightening his hold on armor-plated cloth. _Damn, but he's got flashy stuff. I gotta get me some of those._

Bruce tried to stand up as quickly as possible, which was no easy feat with the Joker clinging to him like he was.

"Get _off_ of me," he growled in frustration. They were going to get shot at at any moment now, and police backup was arriving. He had a decision to make, and it was a very grim one. When the first bullets started flying - the cops above didn't even give a warning - Bruce gritted his teeth and made it, dragging the Joker, who couldn't seem to keep up though his life depended on it, into the hulking black tank with him. It wasn't an easy fit; the car was obviously not made for two people, not to mention that Batman wouldn't be able to push the machine to its limits either. There was no way he was going to be able to switch seating positions to become fully encased in the car while still attached to the Joker's arm. He did his best to hold onto the man, grabbing for his free arm and pulling all three of their appendages down into his lap while Bruce steered with his other arm, and the cops closed in around them.

Thrilled beyond belief when the black-clad man pulled him into the shiny new toy, he blew a kiss and waved to the policemen targeting them before getting shoved bodily into the tight little compartment. Grunting as the other man jumped in and winded him unintentionally, he was left silently cackling as he was left completely pressed against his companion's side, head tucked against his shoulder and hands shoved between his legs. It was like Christmas in July, except with a few more Jolly Fat Men (with guns) and much better presents than he'd ever received. "And to think I'd.... only ever thought to.... ask for a puppy and a BB gun..." he coughed, pinned tighter yet as they took off and turned a corner at impossible velocity.

Bruce didn't want to ask what the Joker was referring to. The man was obviously enjoying himself and Bruce was at his wit's end. He had to shake the police, who were now chasing them down the streets and gaining squad cars by the minute. The last thing he needed now was the man pressed between his side and the car's interior control panels going any crazier than he already was. Lucky for him, the Joker seemed to be in a very dazed and happy place at the moment. All Bruce wanted to do was get rid of him, but it was going to be hard to do at this point.

Driving with one hand, not being able to push the car's limits, he felt incredibly restricted. Taking conventional streets was not working at this point. There were simply too many cops. He needed to be able to jump, to use the nearest construction ramp and get onto some of the more structurally sound buildings.

"Get down," he growled at the Joker, hoping he would shut up and listen. This was going to be difficult.

"Ooo, commanding," he teased back, wriggling and trying to get a better look at his "captor's" face and failing. "Maybe I will, maybe I won't. What will you give me if I do? Or... I know, you're the _forceful_ kind, aren't you? Always used to getting your way and taking what you want, mmm..." he trailed off in a hum, the fingers of one trapped hand uncurling to trace a line down his leg. _I wonder if he'll get pissed. Eee hee..._

"I said _get down_!" Batman let go of the Joker's wrist, grabbed him by the back of the neck instead, and shoved. He began the jump sequence, the space inside the car moving, rearranging itself to pull him back down further into the car's underbelly. He just barely managed to get the Joker down far enough, squeezing into the space with him. There was absolutely no room here, and he was worried he wouldn't be able to pull this off. He needed both his hands, so he dragged the Joker's up above their heads as well while he grasped the steering column. Sweat was dripping into his eyes and pooling down his back. He could engage an army of men, but this was stressful. The car's motors revved underneath them; he could feel it through the entire vehicle, it rattled up his spine. They were ready to go. He sent the car flying over the construction ramp he was aiming for, and landed gracelessly atop the brownstone buildings across the street.

He suddenly found himself roughly shoved into a different position, machinery clicking around the both of them and seemingly dragging him in by both forcibly-pinned hands. The engine made everything buzz and hum around them, and for once a laugh wasn't forthcoming. Sandwiched between hard metal and a slightly softer body and in _more_ than a compromising position, his green eyes took on a glazed, faraway look, although the mad, manic light still glowed within them. Each jump jolted his head against the car's underbody, dazing him even more.

Batman was more than preoccupied with staying atop the roofs to notice any minor discomfort the other man was having. It was luck alone that they didn't crash through any of the buildings and get stuck there until they were surrounded, but it was the perfect escape route. The drove for three minutes in one solid direction, then pulled to a halt atop a larger roof, backing up and shooting across it in the opposite direction. As Bruce hoped, they went unnoticed until it was too late. The cops hadn't been able to keep a close enough eye on them from the ground and lost them, expecting them to continue heading north. Instead, much against Bruce's better judgment, they made their way as quickly as possible in the direction of Wayne Industries' warehouses.

After being brained repeatedly on the metal, Joker had nothing to concentrate on but what little he could see and what lot he could feel. His back side was starting to numb from the constant buzzing, but that wasn't commanding the majority of his attention. Unusually straight-faced, he quietly watched the flicker of computer screens on the sharply angled face above, his hands forcibly pivoted as the other man steered. He absently licked his lips.

Bruce's anxiety rose the nearer they came to the hideout. He did not want to be here, he did not want to take the _Joker_ here, but seeing that the cops were after the both of them, the cops who currently circled Arkham Asylum and nearly every street of Gotham, _and_ seeing that he couldn't simply drop the man off at their doorstep and escape unscathed himself... he saw little choice. He needed to get these cuffs off, one way or another, before he could do much else, and they needed to be somewhere safe, away from the public for the public's sake, in the meantime. Still, he didn't feel right about it. He drove around the fenced in compound several times, as many as he could before he worried that they might be spotted, just so that the Joker wouldn't be able to judge their location by timing the distance from downtown Gotham. Eventually, he had to give in and pull the car up to the hidden lift in the gravel. As they descended into the ground, the car's insides rearranged itself again, bringing Batman and the Joker back to their original positions.

Even dazed and mad as he was, his mind was still recording every detail for later. It had always been that way - things were either tools and weapons that could be employed later, or little jeweled specks of memory that could be rewound and enjoyed later as many times as he wished. Back and muscles voicing their complaints to his brain as the car eased everything back to almost the way it was when they first entered the car, his sense of humor came back as the feeling of dream-reality slowly faded. When the car finally jolted to a halt at their unknown destination, he gave a fake swoon and a feminine sigh. "Oh, gee. My hero," he chuckled, placing a kiss on an unshielded cheek to see if he'd get a punch to the face.

He did. Rather, he got Batman's head rammed into his face, turned slightly so that the hardest part of his skull would hit the most vulnerable part of the Joker's, effectively knocking him unconscious. He checked the Joker's pulse, just under the line of white makeup meeting tan skin to make sure, and only then took a moment to breathe.

He climbed out of car, pulling the other man with him. The painted grin seemed even funnier looking to Bruce when it was spread out on an unconscious face. He gritted his teeth when a good deal of it smudged onto his shoulder. He almost had the Joker out of the car when something sharp cut into his stomach. He sucked in a pained breath and looked down to see a long, thin knife sticking through the material of the Joker's apron pocket. It had wedged itself between two of the armored plates Bruce wore. He pulled it out, it hadn't gone in far, a nick really, but now that he looked more closely, he saw evidence of more knives in that apron. There were spots of blood seeping through his clothing here and there, bright red against the starched white cotton. Bruce grimaced and laid him out on the floor, trying to remove the apron until he realized that it was stitched into the dress. Instead, he pulled out the loose knives, and one by one, pulled out the ones that had sliced into the madman's own flesh.

"Alfred," he called on the intercom, "I'm going to need you and your stitching needle down here, right away."

"Will do, sir," came the short, merry reply. Bruce didn't think even Alfred could keep that merry tone for long once he got down here. He had a feeling the butler was going to have his head for this.

* * *

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	4. Chapter 4

The smaller man simply flopped bonelessly into whatever position his limbs were moved as the knight set about removing the long metal shards from their accidental sheath. Quite a bit of the rouge and white cake had rubbed off in random place - onto metal, armor, cloth. Skin started darkening visibly where he'd been slammed against various hard surfaces and finally knocked unconscious.

As the other man finished with the last of the knives in the bottom front pockets, the criss-crossing and random spots of paler, rougher skin became a great deal more obvious at close quarters - arabesques patterned over tanner, healthier skin.

Alfred emerged from the lift at a swift stride that faltered when he saw the man lying on the floor next to Bruce.

"It's alright, he's out," Bruce tried to put him at ease, or maybe justify bringing him down to the hideout. Alfred's lips tightened, his expression going stern, and came over to them, unraveling a kit of medical supplies.

The butler-turned-medic carefully looked over the unconscious man. Bruce was trying to stop the bleeding from a nasty gash across the Joker's stomach, but simply holding his large hands over it wasn't going to do. Alfred handed him a wad of tissue which he quickly pressed over the wound.

"I see you two had something of a scuffle," Alfred commented nonchalantly.

"The police are after him, but I.....had a problem." Bruce lifted his cuffed arm, and the Joker's lifted along behind it. "I didn't want to bring him down here."

"I see." And that was that. Bruce didn't think he was going to get any more out of Alfred until it came time for him to say "I told you so" one more time. He hoped that time wouldn't come soon.

"Alright, let's get him on the table," Bruce said, lifting the dead weight without too much difficulty. He was getting tired quickly though; he could feel the strain on his muscles. They bandaged what they could of the Joker's knife wounds, but some of them looked pretty deep. Bruce couldn't tell if Alfred was worried or not about it. They searched for a key to the handcuffs as well, but didn't manage to find one. Eventually, Bruce sent Alfred to look for a pair of metal sheers, while he took the Joker to a small holding cell they'd created for emergencies. Like this, he supposed.

Joker, meanwhile, had recovered consciousness, keeping the fact to himself out of habit. Only slight upward twitches to his mouth every now and again betrayed the fact that he was awake, listening attentively and risking small glances at his surroundings beneath his lashes.

For the time being, Batman was stuck locked up in his own cell. He waited patiently for Alfred to return, so they could get these cuffs off. He'd laid the Joker out on the floor again, and was forced to sit beside him. He looked over the man carefully for possibly the first time that night, focusing on the whole rather than what gun he was holding in his hand or how deep the knives in his pockets had cut. He was a normal looking man underneath all the blood, absurd nurse's outfit, makeup, and scars. He had two arms, two legs, his skin was tan though it probably hadn't seen the sun in a while, and Bruce realized that the only way he was noticing these things now was because he wasn't awake. He was more creature than man while awake. Speaking of which, as Batman's eyes narrowed, focusing in on the Joker's face, he had the sneaking suspicion that the creature had regained consciousness at some point.

"How many people did you kill to escape tonight?" he growled lowly from the back of his throat.

A whisper of a giggle escaped from his throat. "....hee. Aren't you the observant one..." Green eyes slitting open from painted socket depths, the upward twitch of his mouth wasn't suppressed any longer. Licking his lips, his eyes rolled upwards as he seemed to count in his head. "...one-two-three...six. One away from a perfect score. Maybe we should try it again and see if I get full marks next time..." He chuckled lowly, tension lines in his face showing that he certainly _felt_ every bruise and knife-wound... but it didn't make the slightest difference in his grin or demeanor.

That thing he did with tongue, like a nervous tick, was unsettling. Bruce wondered how foolish the man had to be to stick an assortment of knives in nothing but cloth-covered pockets, or if he simply didn't care. Every time they met, the Joker had delighted in putting himself in needless danger, usually at Batman's hands.

"Where's the key?" Bruce lifted their cuffed hands for emphasis. He didn't want to have a conversation with this man if he could help it. Alfred had been right; he didn't completely understand the Joker and it took being chained to him for that to sink in.

"What, in such a hurry to leave? Phobic of nurses? Or do I just make the overgrown Bat... that nervous?" he giggled, pulling on his cuffed arm, making the metal jingle and Bruce move back and forth. "If you can be a brave boy and come closer, I may just tell you where it is..."

Bruce narrowed his eyes. He didn't want to play games, and he didn't think that getting any closer was a good idea. They were plenty close enough already. Still, he inclined his head to show that he was ready to meet the challenge. "You've lost, Joker. You're going back to Arkham when this is over."

"You really think so? But it's so... _boring_... there. Plain white walls. No color, no fun. None of this..." he made a broad waving gesture, "...decor with _character_. By the way, did anyone ever tell you that where you live says quite a _lot_ about you? I can tell you're quite the interesting..." His tongue unconsciously swiped across his lips again, making his teeth click. "..._man_. Tell me, Bat Man. Is the face beneath the mask another mask? Or do you wear your face _over_ the mask beneath? _Eheh_..." Seeing Batman's stern expression, he held a hurt look for a split second before bursting into laughter again. "Always so serious, so serious. It's no fun if you don't play the game..."

Bruce lashed out, pinning the Joker down on the floor. He didn't like where the Joker was going on the subject of his mask, and he didn't want the man to get the idea that he could force it off.

"You're one to talk about masks. Yours may be permanent, but you still wear it," he growled. "I'm not going to play games with you." Dammit, where was Alfred?

No less than a moment after the thought crossed his mind did the communicator in his earpiece come to life with the butler's voice. "I believe I have found a sufficient pair of wire cutters, sir. I've left them outside the door." Bruce sighed in relief, releasing the Joker from his grip and rising to the door. He had to pull the other man a little to get it open and fetch the cutters. Fortunately Alfred was smart enough not to stick around and be seen just in case the Joker were to remember Bruce Wayne's employee.

"All work and no play makes Bat a dull boy." Dragged along the floor as the hero reached outside to grab the tool, he gave a little fake pout. "Keen to get away so soon? And here I thought you cared, riding in for such a heroic rescue and being so... insistent... in that little car of yours. Or perhaps you're just one to... tease and run," he chuckled lowly, knowing the other man wouldn't even consider using the clippers for a darker purpose.

All Batman could do was glower while he worked at the links of the cuffs with one hand. Couldn't he give it a rest already? Bruce doubted the Joker was serious with all this flirting. He knew a ploy to get under his skin when he saw one, and he was loathe to admit that it was doing to him exactly what the Joker intended for it to do. He was growing increasingly agitated and uncomfortable.

"Is that all you can do, Joker? Tease me?" Bruce was irked at himself for rising to the Joker's provocation, but after all he'd gone through at the hands of this man, it was incredibly hard to focus the anger in his presence.

"Is that all you can do? Get angry?" he mimicked back in a mocking tone. "You should try unwinding a little, Bat. Haven't you heard? Laughter is good for the _soul_," he intoned in pseudo-seriousness. "Keep this up, and you'll be no more fun anymore; just another dark shadow mugging people in alleys. There's more fun things to life than bludgeoning people unconscious," he pointed out, vaguely gesturing to the dark bruise where he'd had his lights punched out.

"I'm not sure this city is ready for your brand of _fun_," Bruce replied, though he cringed inside. His conscience told him that Joker was absolutely right; he did lose his temper, a lot, as far as this criminal was concerned. On the other hand, his head told him that that stab of guilt was exactly what the Joker was going for, and no matter how he liked to put it, Joker was the one going around blowing up buildings and killing people, and Batman was the one trying to stop him. It was better to focus on the larger picture than the Joker's blackening eye.

Finally the wire cutters did their work; he would have to take off the cuff itself later, but for now he was glad to be rid of his connection to the Joker.

The insane man moved his hand back and forth, sending the detached chain swinging. "People don't know what they're missing. They build up all these... invisible walls inside their head. Worrying about what other people will think about them, say about them. Thinking that if they follow some unspoken rules and be good little boys and girls that everything in the tiny little... _box_ of their lives will stay the same. Familiar. _Controlled._ Safe. They eat, sleep, and breathe these _meaningless_ little fears, and all the good things in life just-" He gestured broadly for effect, making a little whoosh noise to accompany it. "Pass them right by. Until it kills them, of course. Eheh..."

Bruce didn't want to hear any more of this. He wasn't about to get into a brainbusting conversation on human nature with a man who spoke of happiness and freedom in one breath and destroyed people's lives in another. He'd heard that motto from more than one man in his lifetime; the hardest to cope with had been Ducard. He turned his back when the madman started into a slow mantra of chuckles and walked out of the room. He made sure to close the door behind him without slamming it, and waiting for the computerized deadbolt to click into place. Once outside, he sighed deeply. He needed to talk with Alfred.

Smile melting off as soon as the man left the room, he rose to his feet, wavering only slightly as all the recent knocks in the head made the room spin. Padding carefully up to the door, he peered out of the small glass portal in the door, tilting his head in thought. _More fancy toys all around, eh? Even in the doors..._ Holding one hand briefly to one of the deep wounds in his side, his eyes swept the room, taking stock of its contents and beginning to calculate how he could use them.

* * *

Bruce found Alfred in the alternate operations room. Greeting the old man wearily and pulling off the Batman mask, he took a look over the butler's shoulder. They were watching video feed of the Joker, standing at the door to his cell, looking out into the vast room around him. Bruce had almost forgotten he'd wired a camera into that room. This was the first time it had been occupied.

"He's got to go back to Arkham," Bruce muttered.

"Well sir, I'm afraid that might be a bit more difficult than you had originally anticipated," came the reply. Bruce caught the hardness in Alfred's tone that no one else probably would have. He looked questioningly to his butler, who did little more than nod to another monitor, broadcasting breaking news. "Batman and the Joker, seen together tonight amid the mass breakout of Arkham Asylum...." was the latest headline. "It seems the public has got the wrong idea about you, once more," was all Alfred had to say.

Bruce rubbed his hands over his face and pulled them back through his hair catching old sweat and black makeup along the way while he groaned. "Alright," he began, talking more to himself than Alfred, "Alright. We'll keep him for now, until we can figure out a way to hand him over without anything else going to hell."

Joker, meanwhile, paced the room, counting the steps, examining the way the walls fit together, running fingers over every object in the room as well as the outlines of the door frame. It seemed like the room was tight and secure, but he knew better. _Always a way, innet there?_ Flopping onto the bare cot set against one wall, he let one arm dangle down the shielded side, picking open the stitching to get at the springs within.

"You might want to make sure he can't do anything nefarious to that mattress in the meantime," Alfred said. To Bruce, it sounded very much like the words "I told you so". He didn't like Alfred's sense of humor when he was this run down.

He turned on a small microphone mounted above the keyboards and spoke clearly into it, "If you don't like the accommodations, I can just as easily have them removed."

His hand jolted back up to his side as a sour expression writ itself across his face. It was rather like seeing a small boy pout and grumble after being sent to his room for some offense. He began obviously rescanning and reassessing the room, startled that an intercom and some sort of high-quality video security was present in the room. Even as the thought entered his head, twisted thoughts began to form and surface, a mischievous smirk flickering and beginning to grow.

Satisfied, Bruce pulled up a chair next to Alfred, sitting down heavily and taking over some of the controls. He pulled up several more news stations, Gotham's channels as well as the world news, letting his attention flicker back to the Joker's screen occasionally. He felt tired down to his bones, but was still too uneasy about having this particular man as a captive on his property to be able to relax properly. At his side, Alfred pointedly ignored the holding cell monitor and brought up light conversation about the upcoming election.

Eyes half-slitted, the catlike sly smirk firmly in place, one hand started wandering. Tracing along the edge of his whitened face, his fingers glided down to tease at the collar of the dress, slowly undoing the first few buttons and letting the fabric part to reveal bare skin. Giving a coy look to where he estimated the camera to be, he let his other hand run down his side, fingers catching the edge of the stained white fabric and rolling the hem between those slender digits.

Bruce was caught up in another broadcasting speculating on the Joker and Batman subject when he glanced at the other monitor like he had been doing for several minutes. This time he did a very pronounced double take. What he'd originally thought was the Joker idly fidgeting with his hands was, on closer inspection, most definitely not. One of the man's hands was hiking the absurd nurse costume up his thighs, and Bruce's detail oriented eyes noticed quite a few undone buttons at his collar. Most striking of all was the intense expression the Joker wore, directed almost exactly toward where Bruce was sitting. It stood to reason that he'd figured out where the camera was hidden, but it still caught Bruce by surprise. His hands stilled at the keyboard.

Stretching in a feline motion, Joker tilted his head while keeping his eyes riveted to the spot he'd guessed, exposing a length of neck and running his tongue over his lips. The message was very clear, though whether it was a challenge, invitation, or some mix between the two was unsure. _Hahahah. Notice __**this**__. Ahah... _

Bruce hadn't moved for some time, and when Alfred glanced over to him, wondering what had caught his attention so thoroughly, he got quite an eyeful. "Ah - oh. Oh my," was all he managed to say, though it effectively knocked Bruce out of his reverie.

"Alfred," Bruce cleared his throat, "Why don't you turn in for the night. We'll finish this in the morning." He shouldn't have, but he felt like he was responsible for inflicting this scene on the older man, or had been caught doing something he shouldn't be. Alfred already knew what the Joker was like, and he had no doubt seen his share of disturbing things criminals had come up with over his long years, but Bruce felt the need to shield the other man's eyes the higher that skirt rode.

Alfred gave Bruce one of those lingering looks, but did as instructed, leaving the young billionaire to his own devices.

Chucking to himself, wondering if he'd managed to wind-up the amusingly high-strung man who fancied himself some sort of tragic hero, he rolled his shoulders, threading both hands behind his head as a sort of pillow. Despite the simplicity of the action, he still managed to arrange it to visually suggest that his hands were somehow tied in that vulnerable position. _Let's see... will he be the sort to just remain a silent voyeur? Prudishly demand I stop offending his delicate senses?_ Another wave of quiet laughter bubbled up out of him.

Bruce's fingers lingered over the microphone's switch, but his eyes were fastened to the screen. Old familiar vexation stirred in his stomach, but he couldn't.....couldn't shake the image the Joker was able to pull off, all swaying motion and wild glee under the taunting surface his body made. He was going to tell his captive off, but.....but he could see that conversation over the microphone getting absolutely nowhere.

Hell. He stood up, pulling Batman's mask back over his head and swept out of the room. His pace was quick, and he thought about very little on the way to the Joker's cell other than to simply get the infuriating man to come to his senses, just a little bit.

Insides winding up in excitement and glee as he heard footsteps coming closer, he was barely able to choke off another laugh. Struggling to keep his eyes from the door, he continued to bet with himself as to what reaction he might have coaxed from his playmate of the moment. _So volatile. It's as much fun as playing with dynamite..._ Hearing the bolts move back with a click, he finally wasn't able to resist. Turning his eyes to the opening door, he couldn't help but smirk.

Bruce intended to stand there and look threatening, to force the Joker to stop messing around and just...but that all went to hell the moment he came through the door. He didn't slow down, much less stop once inside. He went straight for the Joker, taking him by the throat and one of his hands, pulling it down to his side while throwing him up against the wall over his cot.

"You think you can taunt me _now_??" he was practically yelling, "After you kill -" he managed not to say Rachel's name aloud barely in time. "You think you can taunt me like _this_?" With the hand holding the Joker's at his side Batman pulled on the hem of his skirt, hiking it up to where the Joker had it earlier.

A giggle was all he got in reply. "Ooo, did I hit a nerve? Did I kill your lady love? Or maybe..." he grin deepened, that insane, manic light shimmering in his eyes. "Perhaps you're upset I ruined your boyfriend's face and pushed him over the edge, hmmm? Well, now's your chance." A flash of something darker passed through his eyes before the ever-present humor drowned it out again. "You can get your revenge... or you can finish what you started during our little getaway. Or are you just too frightened?" he teased, smirk returning as he placed one hand upon the black glove forcing his skirt up.

Bruce felt like he was caught between a rock and a very hard place. He was seeing red, but Joker's words brought inklings of awareness back into him. He made a guttural noise that bordered on a shout and slammed Joker's head into the wall. Here the Joker was, laughing and giving him options, options that brought him back to his senses. But damned if he wanted to back down. His hand squeezed around the malleable throat and he pressed his body harder into the wall. Fuck. Batman was supposed to be above this. Bruce squeezed his eyes shut, trying to gain control of himself.

Tears of laughter and pain escaped from Joker's eyes, but the smile remained as firmly in place as his gaze as he bored into the angry eyes behind the mask. Well aware of the fact that he couldn't breathe and would only remain conscious for a short while longer if this kept up, he kept his one hand firmly on the arm clutching the thin white skirt. Blindly reaching out with the other hand, he circled an armored waist.

Letting himself be pulled in was indistinguishable between pressing forward, painfully grinding Joker into the hard wall. He couldn't open his eyes, and he couldn't release his grip. Every single muscle in his body felt taught, and he could feel the Joker's ragged breath against his face. His mind was caught between wanting to squeeze until the man's head came off, and pulling himself back from the dangerous place this thing was taking him to. Their hips ground together almost a minute before he realized he was hard, and still he couldn't open his damned eyes. He was aware that the Joker would need air soon; his body was tightening up involuntarily underneath Batman's grip.

Vision beginning to waver and darken around the edges, he couldn't even whisper. Shivering at every sensation, the hard warmth pressing into him only made the rush of feelings more intense, an echoing wave of lust rising up in him. Chest hitching, his fingers dug into the other man's back as he pushed him forward, his other hand jerking up the arm still entangled in the edge of his skirt.

Up the Joker's leg, underneath the skirt, Bruce let his hand be led forward until he found what his rival had been leading him to. _Now_ he opened his eyes. What guilt he'd been feeling slipped away from his focus, and little but anger boiled underneath. He pressed upward, with both the hand and his hips, stroking as he did so, but he never loosened his grip on the Joker's neck. The man's eyelids were drooping, but Bruce couldn't bring himself to feel sorry for him.

For his part, he watched his rivals eyes and unwavering expression for as long as his fading vision held. Ragged feelings of pleasure and erotic helplessness jolting through him, his lips parted to cry out only for the sound to get throttled by the hand locked around his neck. Shuddering, his eyes rolled back in his head and he went completely limp.

After a moment and a half, Bruce's hands released. The Joker slid down the wall, crumpling on the small cot below. Bruce was in a silent state of shock; his breaths were coming in as ragged as the Joker's had been only a few minutes earlier. His throat felt itchy and dry when he looked down at the limp body below as it dawned on him exactly what he'd just done. He fell down to knees immediately and held his ear over the Joker's lips to check for breath while his hands searched the other's neck for a pulse. Pulse was there, breath was barely, but it was smoothing out, becoming more regular. Bruce's heart was trying to escape his chest. It wouldn't slow down even after several full minutes of staring at the once-more-unconscious Joker.

It took a number of minutes before Joker stirred again, a dry cough instead of laughter rattling up from his lungs. Blinking almost sleepily, trying to get his oxygen-starved brain to work properly again, his eyes finally focused on dark form frozen in panic over him. A weak smile made the corners of his mouth twitch up. He desperately wanted to say something to the man again, pull at the unraveling threads of his being, but he couldn't get his throat to function.

The Joker's eyes zeroed in on him, and after a moment of staring back Bruce couldn't take it anymore. He had to get out of there. He didn't quite understand what he'd just done, how he'd come so close to breaking his "one rule" when nothing, _nothing_, before had ever taken him that close. It unnerved him more than ever. When he was sure that the Joker was in fact awake and alive, Bruce set his cool expression into place, and fled the cell.

The penthouse back at the top of Wayne Tower no longer felt like his sanctuary. Instead it felt cold and un-lived in, like he hadn't visited in months. He shed the suit in pieces, letting them drop to the floor with little care and wound up in bed in nothing but his underwear and a layer of fine, cold sweat. He was exhausted, but he knew that sleep wouldn't come easily tonight.

Joker, for his part, felt incredibly sore inside and out. The bandaged puncture wounds burned in their wrappings, beaten and bruised muscles ached all over, and his head felt like someone had just had it in a vice, but a smile still curled at the corners of his mouth. "...after all's said and done, I still win round one..." _I think I'm going to enjoy the game..._

_

* * *

  
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_A/N:_ Here's hoping the format isn't too confusing. -.-;; This piece is actually PLAYED/written by myself and Loony sending paragraphs back and forth, alternating between the Joker's POV (me) and Bruce's/Batman's (Loony). We then supplement characters (or adopt more as our "taken characters") as needed.

**For artwork, other goodies, and quick chapter updates, please visit:**

**into_entropy dot livejournal dot com**


	5. Chapter 5

Bruce had been wrong. Sleep came much easier than he expected it to. After a few minutes his mind worked itself out to the point where he couldn't think about anything anymore. Unconsciousness took over like a wave.

He slept well into the next morning, waking to find signs that Alfred had come and gone. His suit had been picked up off the floor and arranged into a tidy pile on a nearby chair. Breakfast was waiting on a pan at a nearby table. He didn't feel hungry at all; in fact, mentally he felt very much like he did the night before. Physically he was well rested, and he was grateful for that if nothing else. Pulling himself out of bed was a slow process, but he did it, then made his way to the shower immediately.

The water was just this side of scalding hot, and Bruce liked it that way. Washing the grime off his face and body was a slow, arduous task. There seemed to be layers of it. The grease paint around his eyes had slid down his cheeks and across his forehead. His hair was slick with dried sweat, and his arms and legs fared no better. It was like heaven to wash it all off. Finally, he was relaxing a bit. His head was still numb, but Bruce had always been a very physical person. His body could be trained to withstand generous amounts of pain, but it positively melted at the relief of warm flowing water.

He stayed in the shower longer than was necessary, moving slowly when it came time to turn off the valves and grab a large towel. Bruises riddled his arms and chest, next to the older ones still healing. He realized that he had caused some of them himself while getting carried away. After drying off, he pulled on a pair of loose pants and a t-shirt. Alfred had apparently cleaned the armor of his suit as well as putting it aside. Funny how he felt a little extra pang of guilt about that. He sat down at the small coffee table, taking the plate of breakfast over and picking through it. Last night was beginning to replay itself inside his head.

* * *

The incarcerated man had slept the same way he usually did: fitfully, wavering in and out of consciousness. At some point during the night he had assumed that his captor had dozed off and finished his earlier fishing for a steel spring. He'd fiddled with the pieces holding the remains of the handcuffs before he decided he liked the look and left it alone. The rest of his time had been spent poking into the cell's security. Satisfied that he'd figured out a goodly bit of how the gadgetry in the door worked, he'd decided that he was content to stay in the little box for awhile, dozing off again for the...9th? 15th? time. He'd calculated that it must be sometime in the morning, and he didn't want to get caught before he had the chance for more fun.

Temperature dipping as it always did when he slept, his unconscious body shivered and curled in upon itself with the lack of blankets or clothing to retain the heat. Sleep was the one time when a smile wasn't ready at hand; his expression looked almost hunted, muscles nervously twitching every so often.

Starting awake again, memories of the dreams vanishing like wisps of smoke as soon as consciousness returned, Joker frowned and rolled off the cot, rubbing his arms to rid himself of the gooseflesh. Nobody had returned in quite a few hours, and he was getting bored. Retrieving the impromptu lockpick from the hole dug in the mattress, he poked a few select places in the door and was rewarded with a click. Shoving the spring back into its hiding place, he opened the door and walked nonchalantly out, wondering what sort of interesting things he could find in the home of another freak like himself.

* * *

Turning things over and over inside Bruce's head was not helping in the least. He was so absorbed by it that he didn't notice Alfred entering the room until a polite cough made his head snap up to attention.

"It's been a while since I've gotten the jump on you, sir," Alfred mused.

Bruce pulled his mouth into a half smile that he knew the older man would see straight through. "I suppose it has. Lot on my mind...."

"I can see that," Alfred clasped his hands together and lifted his head a little, arching his eyebrows at Bruce. "You don't need me to tell you to to be more careful, especially when it concerns criminals like that man in the cell downstairs," his prim British accent never fluctuated, "but you might want to think about that a little harder, especially when you have me go over the security footage in the morning."

Bruce visibly cringed.

* * *

Giggling at the wide, open dark space, Joker spread his arms out and twirled in a circle, delighted when his laughter echoed back to him. Wandering over to the computer terminals and screens, he played around with the controls, confirming his suspicions about the camera in the room and playing with the other cameras that were sending feeds. His glee only increased as he converted every sight to memory, recognizing some of the places he was seeing... and growing intrigued at some of the others.

* * *

"Alfred......" he had no rightly idea what to say, or how to explain himself, but the butler just nodded and rocked on his heels a bit.

"Just keep that in mind next time, shall we?" Always so understanding. Bruce felt the tension ease inside him.

"Right." He set the plate down, no longer willing to try eating all of it. "We're going to have to get in touch with Gordon soon, see about turning him over. How is our guest doing, anyway?"

Giggling to himself, Joker watched the two little figures on the screen, fiddling with the controls. Hearing the tinny audio filtering in, he laughed even harder, trying to find if this little spy-eye had the same properties as the one in his cell. Pushing buttons experimentally, there was a crackling and a few clicks in the breakfast room before a familiar voice filtered through, muffled laughter quietly filling the room. "....eheh. He-...heheheh... I don't know, why don't you come down and find out? Or are you afraid to come down without all your gear? I don't have rabies, crossss...my heart." There were a few more clicks of what sounded like buttons. "...whatsis... *bang*.... OH. Heheh...."

Bruce's head shot up and he was on his feet in an instant. That voice was unmistakable, and it was coming through loud and clear over the intercom. "Stay here!" he said to Alfred while wracking his mind for the locations of the video cameras throughout the penthouse. He didn't know how long ago the Joker had broken out of the cell, nor how long he'd been watching he and Alfred converse. It couldn't have been that long ago, dammit, not if Alfred had been going through the security footage earlier. He didn't even know if the Joker had gotten a clear view of their faces or not, but he wanted to get out of there faster than ever. Quickly he grabbed the suit off of the chair, chucking his shirt and pulling on armor as he ran out into the corridor. He headed straight for the window, having gotten most of the suit on and mask firmly in place. Hating doing this in the middle of the day, but seeing no other option, he threw open the latch and took off toward the warehouse.

Chuckling to himself, Joker took off into the machinery, fixated on finding a spot to hide so they could begin the game of cat-and-mouse. Finding handholds in the cave wall, he climbed up a ways, shooing a few bats out of a small crevice before settling in the dark ledge within. _One of them had to be the Bat... and I'm not placing my bets on the old geezer..._

Heart pounding all the while, Bruce waited in the longest lift ride he'd ever taken. Once down into the main underground area, he hit the lights, covering everything in pitch darkness. Inside the mask, he had installed a night vision interface. He only hoped that the Joker hadn't gotten hold of anything....more useful. Quietly he made his way through the large, open room, housing the large vehicle and not much else, then into the smaller, adjacent areas. The main room had been finished up quite well, but the rest he'd left as they were, caves. He lurked in corners, falling easily back into the sync of moving, breathing, listening.... Overhead, bats rustled, some of them took off, startled by something.

He'd had to clap a hand over his mouth as the lights were suddenly swallowed as soon as the familiar dark form came down from a lift. _So that's where he flaps off to..._ Shuffling back until he was pressed back against the cold, damp stone, he waited, listening to see what the man would do next when he couldn't readily find him. _Come and get me, Bats..._

Bruce's eyes scanned carefully over shapes and shadows, concentrating, focusing on the quietest sound of breath that was not his own. The night vision gave him an edge for sure, but everything he saw was awash in green. He turned round and round; there was the Batpod monitor, the surveillance system, thick chords and wires wrapped together and going up, up into the crevices of rock where bats flitted, and a grotesque smile stared down at him.

Breathing quietly as he listened intently, eyes still desperately trying to adjust to the switch from day to night, part of him was trying to figure out what he'd do _should_ the vigilante find him holed up near the ceiling.

Alarms went off in his head when he caught sight of glittering eyes and that mad grin, sporting a dress that was far too short to be worn at such a high hiding place. Batman rushed forward, launching off one of the monitor tables to reach the Joker's position, grabbing hold of him and pulling them both down to the ground once more.

Suddenly jerked from his position and coming to rest with a jolt on the ground, Joker flinched. "....ow. You never want to place nice, do you? For someone with such fancy digs, life sure seems to piss you off..." He licked his lips, chuckling nervously. "By the way, how was.... breakfast? Anything good in the paper? 'Unlikely duo cause breakout at Arkham'? Heheheh..."

Bruce dragged the Joker to his feet, seeing to it that he wasn't about to pry himself free and quickly looking his body up and down for weapons. He could see nothing visible. Not liking the Joker's accurate assessment of the situation at all, he gave only a short reply, "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. One way or another, you're going back where you belong." He forced the Joker's arms behind his back and gripped them tightly so that he could have the man walk in front of him. He used his free arm to turn on the lights once more.

"And where is that, Bats? Locked up in the Loony Bin and put on the freak display?" he asked, humor wrapped around his words. "You know, everyone out there thinks _you're_ just as much a freak-" _Lick._"...as I am. And what a warm reception I would get. 'Tell me, how'd it feel to stab that nurse? How do you know the Bat? Here's a few drugs to loosen that laughing tongue of yours...'" Turning his head to trying to get a glimpse of the taller man, the grin he shot over his shoulder was completely insane. "What do you think? Should I tell them your brown hair matches the decor quite nicely, but your... elderly butler?... is a bit of a humorless stiff?"

"Shut up." Bruce was furious. Absolutely furious. His head reeled at the vision his rival brought to mind. But, he hadn't....he hadn't said "Bruce Wayne" yet. Still, Bruce's heart was sinking. It wouldn't be long for the pieces of the puzzle to come together, if not for the Joker than for someone else he told once released into police custody. Maybe he had recognized Bruce, and just wasn't saying? God, he wouldn't be able to tell unless he could read the madman's mind, something he wasn't very keen on doing to begin with. He took a pair of handcuffs, much sturdier than police grade, from a closet of supplies, and dragged the Joker back to his cell, latching him to the metal frame of the cot. He released the man physically, but lingered close, threatening. "Tell me, Joker, what _did_ you see?"

Unable to stand up with the confinement on his wrist, he decided to relax against the wall, flicking an amused smile up at the fuming man. "Wouldn't _you_ like to know. I _might_ tell you, but you'll have to persuade me." Raising his free hand with a warning finger as he saw the hero twitch, he tsked. "And using the punching bag technique, fun though it might be sometimes, won't work for you this time. Besides, what would the hired help think?"

"How, then?" Bruce was sincerely curious. "What does a man like you _want_?" Before Alfred had told him that it was a lost cause, that was exactly what Bruce had been set on finding out months ago, back when he was chasing the Joker down for the first time. He wasn't sure if Alfred's explanation satisfied him; now that curiosity was piqued again.

Smile widening, he beckoned the dark figure closer. "That's more like it. Come closer and I'll tell you. I promise - I won't bite unless you want me to. Scout's-" his jaw clicked, raising his free hand in a caricature of the two-fingered salute. "..._honor_."

Always mocking. Bruce quelled a spell of frustration, deciding instead to meet the challenge. His lip curled and he crouched down to the Joker's level, inclining his head with his chin lifted in defiance. "Like this?" He prepared for an attack, hands twitching at his sides in anticipation, held out apart from his sides, anxious for it.

Leaning forward, he flinched and laughed as Bruce's arms twitched and started to counterattack. "Whoa, whoa. Easy there. If that's your idea of fun, we can have another go later when I'm _healed_." Swiping his tongue over his lips, he inched closer until their foreheads were almost touching. "That's _better_. What do I want, you ask?" A chuckle. "Just the same thing as everyone else; a little fun before they kick the bucket. If you play along and make the game interesting, I think you'll find I'm quite-..._willing_. To answer. Do things. Cooperate. All that jazz."

"Is this the same _game_ we've been playing all along?" Batman stilled his hands, but was a ball of tension all around, unwilling to relax in the Joker's presence. He couldn't imagine for a moment the Joker prepared to cooperate. He was sure that they both knew this. He was looking for the catch.

"You mean you didn't know?" The grin widened. "I thought you knew. You have more walls in your head than I thought..." Tilting his head thoughtfully, a mischievous flicker passed through insane green eyes. "By the way..." Leaning closer and to one side until his mouth was level with where one of the Bat's ears should be, he watched the man's expression out of the corner of his eyes. "....you forgot your eyeblack this time, Bruce. I could lend you some of mine, but I think you took it with the knives....eheheheh...."

Bruce's hands caught the Joker by his shirt and shook. "You _really_ don't want to get out of here, _do you_?" he growled. His plans for the Joker were shot to hell. There was no way he could send the man back to the police like he was, and Bruce's principles kept him from entertaining......less respectable ways of keeping the Joker quiet.

His smile was suddenly gone, the man looking eerily lucid. "I don't want to go back to that padded excuse for an exhibit display, no. You and I both know you can't send me away now, and you don't have the heart to off me. You still think you're something a step above the rest of us. So..." Smile sliding back into place, his eyes glittered as his gaze bored into angry brown. "It looks like you're stuck with playing."

This wouldn't be the first time in his life that Bruce had been blackmailed, and he told himself so firmly. "Alright." He released the Joker, pushing him back on the cot like something he didn't want to touch anymore. "I can keep you here for as long as you like." He stood, setting his expression, trying not to let the Joker realize how rattled he was.

"'Keep you here'", he chuckled, raising an eyebrow. "You sound like someone deciding to buy a bird to put in a cage." Licking his lips again, he leaned forward, resting one arm on his knee and letting his gaze fall briefly to the floor before giving the other man a rebellious look. "I don't get caged so easily anymore. You'll play, or I'll slip through your fingers like so much sand." Smirking, he shook his head.

All this man cared about was games, and Bruce didn't even know what kind of game he wanted to play with Batman. Like Joker had once said, they were the very models of force and anti-force. "Give me a good reason to let you go." Bruce said as he turned to the door, already planning security upgrades.

The Joker moved like a thin whip of energy; The cot came with him in a screech of metal, tethered hand going to Bruce's waist as the other wrapped around his shoulder. "I don't think you quite understand, Bat..."

Startled, Bruce barely restrained himself from kicking the Joker's feet out from under him and knocking him to the floor. It was strange that the madman's actions thus far had not been violent toward Batman. The hands sliding over his shoulder and resting at his waist were not intending harm as far as he could tell, and this did not make sense to Bruce's hostility riddled mind. The Joker was right. _Alfred_ had been right. "No. I don't understand."

Resting his chin on the other man's shoulder, mind swirling with curious questions and ideas and barely contained excitement, his arms tightened, drawing the armored man closer. Touching that close, it became apparent just how much the man was one bundle of nervous energy, muscles almost imperceptibly shaking, heartbeat racing in some manic sweep of emotions. "As much as you deny it, as much as you think otherwise... we're the same, you and I. It's like some-" _Lick._ "Delicious twist of fate; two shattered souls and one dark, sleezeball metropolis. Mix well before serving. No, no... you don't see it yet. Too many walls. Besides, you think you can tie me down?" A laugh. "You don't need a 'good reason to let me go', Bats. You need to give me a good reason to _stay put_..."

What the Joker was doing, this closeness pressing their bodies together, arms encircling him, felt nothing like what had occurred between them last night. This had a false sense of intimacy to it, and Bruce was _ashamed_ to be caught between revulsion and a tiny, tingling bit of.....relief? A fake hug to tell him that the Joker had forgiven him for nearly trying to kill him last night, and almost getting off on it, too? Ah, but there _was_ a catch. He was saying that it was alright for Bruce to be like _him_. And Bruce wasn't, he _wasn't_, goddammit. "No," it was spoken calmly, "I am nothing like you." He grasped the Joker's hands and pulled them from his body slowly, putting space between them as he did so.

"Whatever you say, whatever you say..." Laughter shook him, the shivers passing through his arms into Bruce's hands. "You have a bit of fight in you. I like that. It'd be too... disappointing... _easy_ if you didn't have a little spirit to you..."

Bruce turned then, leaving the Joker behind. There was no convincing him; Bruce saw the difference as clearly as night and day, but in the Joker's mind things were skewed. He sealed the door behind him, considering screwing it shut as well, never to open again. Carefully he scrutinized the lock, trying to imagine how the Joker had escaped. How would he have escaped? It was going to have to be reinforced somehow, and soon. He set about finding materials to ad to the cell while his mind wandered to the future of Bruce Wayne.

Joker contented himself with peering out the porthole, still laughing under his breath as he watched the dark shape outside nervously try to figure out how he'd slipped the trap. _Oh, you're going to have to think a lot harder, Bats... _

Three steel bars and a plethora of massive screws later, Bruce felt satisfied that the Joker could not force the door open while Batman was away. This was far from ideal. Until he installed something more efficient, Bruce would have to unscrew and take down the bars every time he wished to enter the cell, but he was fairly confident in his ability to physically overpower the Joker if it came to that. What he needed most was to make sure the Joker couldn't escape while he was away. After he had bolted the bars into place he stood back, taking stock. The Joker had been watching him through the window, but he pointedly ignored the man. He would need nothing short of dynamite to get out of there.

Rapping on the porthole, irritated that the man wasn't paying any attention, he waited until the hero's eyes flicked up... and then displayed two cuffless wrists through the little window, laughter echoing out of the cell before he suddenly vanished from the porthole view.

Bruce's eyes twitched, and after the Joker could no long see him he squeezed them shut and let out a heavy sigh. It was time to get in touch with Gordon, so he left for the main operations room. But when he got there, he found he couldn't make the call. He sat staring at the dial pad, turning the situation over in his mind. If he warned Gordon of the situation before he turned the Joker in, it was possible he could keep the lunatic quiet. It was _not_, however, _likely_. He pulled off the mask and pressed his hands to his forehead, cursing himself over and over again for letting the situation get so completely out of hand. The truth was that he didn't know what he was going to do. The Joker had the perfect leverage on him now, and there was nothing he could do to stop him from using it short of locking him up in this cave forever and ever. He sat back in his chair, watching through the camera inside the cell. He stared, not scrutinizing, letting his eyes roam over the figure as a whole. Mop of lank hair, bloody, dirty dress that had once upon a time been white, fingers that never held still, flashing eyes.... The Joker liked his games; Bruce had the inkling that he might have to buckle down and play along if he was going to win.

* * *

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